Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 10 - Sudden Plays a Hand(1950) (20 page)

 
          
“No
need to worry. The exposure of that rascal foreman saved us over a thousand
dollars, and there is another thousand owed by Bardoe which we could not have
had if Mister Drait had not collected it for us. It results that the ranch has
now a balance of three thousand, one hundred and fifty dollars at your
disposal.’

 
          
If
he wanted to impress her, he certainly succeeded; it was more money than she
had ever dreamed of possessing. Another thought came; that was what happened to
the gold taken from Bardoe, which she had accused the nester of stealing. She glanced
at him, glimpsed the shadow of a smile on his hard face, and looked quickly
away. Seale was speaking again: “Reminds me that you’re a good prophet,’ he
said to the nester. “Gilman broke gaol last night; overpowered, bound and
gagged the deputy who brought his supper; helped himself to the keys, and
walked out. They say Camort is furious.’

 
          
“He’d
have to be,’ Nick replied meaningly. “Well, that’s one more coyote we gotta
watch out for.’

 
          
Five
men who had been smoking and loafing near the corral now approached, removing
their hats when they saw the lady. The lawyer addressed them:

 
          
“Boys,
this is Miss Darrell, your new owner. You will take orders from her in future.’

 
          
Four
of them were rugged, hard-bitten fellows, nearing or past forty. They muttered “Howdy,’
scuffed their feet, and appeared uncomfortable. The fifth was younger, and had
the sallow complexion, black eyes, and lank hair which pointed plainly to mixed
parentage.

 
          
‘Ver’
glad to meetcha, ma’am,’ he said carefully, and to Seale, “Meestair Geelman, he
no come back.’

 
          
“He
will not, Tomini,’ the lawyer replied shortly. “That’s all.’ When they made no
move, he added, “
What
are you waiting for?’

 
          
“Ordares,’
the man replied, with a slinky look at the girl.

 
          
Drait
stepped forward. “If there ain’t any work to do on this ranch, no outfit is
needed,’ he said sharply. “If there is, get busy.’

 
          
The
half-breed perceived that his malicious attempt to embarrass the new boss had
failed signally: Nicholas Drait, whom he knew by repute, was clearly not a
person to play jokes on. His companions were already moving away, and he
followed.

 
          
“Any o’ these fellas Pavitt’s men?’
Nick asked.

 
          
“No.
Gilman got rid of all the old hands except Milton,’ Seale informed.

 
          
“Guessed that.
What do you think of ‘em, Jim?’

 
          
“Pretty
ornery bunch; that Greaser is a trouble-maker.’

 
          
“I’m
agreein’; I didn’t like his anxiety about the late foreman,’ Nick said, and
turned to Mary. “You’d better fire him.’

 
          
This
was a chance to assert
herself
. “I’ll think about it,’
she replied.

 
          
“Worthwhile,’
Drait returned carelessly.

 
          
After
a meal which—to Milton’s great satisfaction—earned a compliment from Lindy, the
lawyer, Drait, and the puncher departed; Yorky remained to escort the women
back to Shadow Valley in the evening. The Negress and Milton headed for the
kitchen, Yorky went to unhitch the ponies and turn them into the corral, and
Mary seized the opportunity to inspect her mother’s room, which she had already
decided should be her own.

 
          
It
proved to be comfortably furnished, but the dust and decay had a depressing
effect. The little chest of drawers had been cleared, but in a cupboard a few
old dresses were hanging, mere moth-eaten rags. On a wall was the picture of a
man approaching fifty, leaning against a fence, thumbs hooked in the cartridge-studded
belt which supported a heavy revolver. From beneath the broad-brimmed Stetson
keen eyes looked at her over a square, outthrust jaw and close lips.
Her grandfather.
Violence, determination, self-will, she saw
them all in the portrait, together with a dour, obstinate courage which would
suffer to the utmost rather than give in.

 
          
Yet
there must have been some underlying sense of justice in the old man, for
though he would not forgive while he lived, his will showed a desire that what
he had fought to create should not go to strangers. Impulsively, Mary made a
mental promise to the picture, and fled from the room in
a
turmoil
of doubt and despair.

 
          
Buried
in one of the big chairs in the parlour, she strove to concentrate on possible
changes there. Her mind fully occupied, she did not hear the long glass door to
the veranda open.

 
          
“Well,
if it ain’t the Cattle Queen her own self,’ said a jesting voice. “Honey, I
shore am glad to see you.’ She started to her feet. Beau Lamond, his hat pushed
back, stood grinning at her. For a moment, surprise stilled her tongue, and
then, as she realised the risk the man was taking, she cried: “You must be mad
to come here. If Mister Drait sees you …’ “I seen him first, an’ his bodyguard,
Green,’ he replied. “I scarcely think he needs protection,’ something impelled
her to say.

 
          
“No
fella around here wants it as bad,’ he asserted. “I shouldn’t tell you that,
but I know you won’t warn him.’ “You know so much, don’t you?’ she said
ironically.

 
          
“I
know you don’t care two cents about him, an’ that’s why I’m here,’ he said,
with an impudent leer. “I know now that this place is yourn, an’ with Gilman on
the run, you’ll
be needin’
a foreman.
How about it?’

 
          
Mary
regarded him steadily, and had he been acquainted with Sam Pavitt, he would
have remembered him at that moment. “There is no place for you
here,
and never will be,’ she said coldly. “Please go.’

 
          
For
an instant he did not comprehend; then the grin faded from his face and stark
anger took possession. Puttin’ on frills, huh?’ he sneered. “I ain’t good
enough for you—now. Well, I’ll go when I damn please, but first, I’m
takin’ .
.’ He advanced into the room, arms outstretched,
lawless desire in his savage eyes.

 
          
“I
guess you’d better go, Beau,’ a familiar voice chimed in.

 
          
The
cowboy switched his gaze from the girl to a door leading into the house; Yorky
was standing there. “Lo, kid,’ he said carelessly, and with sudden venom, “Git,
yoreself, or—’ His hand streaked back to his gun but his fingers had no more found
the butt when he saw that the boy’s weapon was out and pointed at his midriff.
Beau shook his head in bewilderment; he was reckoned fast, but …

 
          
“You
stopped just in time, hombre—another move an’ you’d be travellin’ up or down,
‘cordin’ to yore past life. Now
march !’
Lamond
marched, painfully conscious of a gun-barrel nudging his ribs. On the edge of
the veranda he halted, and Yorky, placing his right heel in the small of Beau’s
back, suddenly straightened his leg. The resulting violent thrust sent the
unsuspecting victim sprawling into a patch of sand and gravel, several feet of
which he ploughed up with his face. When he
rose
,
blood trickling from his abraded features, he was, as Yorky later put it to an
amused audience in Shadow Valley, “mad enough to bite hisself.’ Instinctively,
as he glared at the grinning youth on the veranda, his hand went towards his
hip, only to halt when he recalled the swift draw which had brought about his
defeat. With a volley of lurid imprecations, he flung himself on his horse and
vanished in a cloud of dust.

 
          
Mary,
pale and somewhat shaky, was sitting down. “Thank you, Yorky,’ she said. “Did
you hear why he came?’

 
          
“No,
ma’am, I busted in right away.’

 
          
She
believed him, which was not surprising, for Yorky was an artist. Early in his
short but chequered career he had discovered that a lie, to be of use, must be
accepted as truth, and he had studied the subject.

 
          
“Fetched
his nerve along,’ he said. “D’you
know
why he’s still
hangin’ around?’

 
          
Mary
thought she could make a good guess, but shook her head.

 
          
Waitin’
for a break to bump off
th
’ boss,’ was the blunt
reply. “As foreman o’ this ranch he’d shore get it.’

 
          
It
was not the reason she had in mind, but remembering the cowboy’s remark about “a
bonny widow,’ and Drait’s manhandling of him, it appeared likely enough. The
peace she had hoped to find at the S P was becoming only a doubtful
possibility. She made an abrupt decision.

 
          
“Mister
Drait said I could have one of the Shadow Valley outfit. Would you ride for me,
Yorky?’

 
          
“Why,
ma’am, I’d be proud,’ the boy said. “But I gotta get back to the Circle Dot—I
promised.’

 
          
“It
would only be for a time, while I’m settling down,’ she explained. “You see, I
know nothing about running a ranch, and you could keep me from appearing too
ignorant. I would like to make you foreman, but …’

 
          
“That
wouldn’t do nohow—I’m too young to be givin’ orders.’ He saw her smile. “Shore,
I gave some to Beau, an’ he took ‘em, but you can’t be pullin’ a gun on yore
men allatime. I don’t claim to know everythin’ about cattle, but Jim’ll help
me; he’s the fella you oughta get.’

 
          
“He’d
be too good—I’d have nothing to do or say,’ she smiled. “I’ll arrange it this
evening. Now, should I tell Mister Drait of—Lamond?’ She read the reply in his
blank stare of surprise. “Of course I must.’

 
          
When
he had gone she stepped out and walked clear of the building, so obtaining a
wider view of the surrounding counnry.
Plain, forest, desert,
slashed with deep gorges, amidst which wound pathways of silver.
And on the far horizon, amethystine purple mountains cutting off
the rest of the world.

 
          
“Yeah,
it shorely is worth lookin’ at.’

 
          
Someone
had spoken her own thought. She turned to find Cullin, hat in hand, standing a
few yards away. Uneasily aware of her reddened cheeks, she murmured a welcome.

 
          
“Just
rode over in the hope o’ seein’ you,’ he said. “
Ain’t settled
in yet, o’ course.’

 
          
“Not
until the place has been made more habitable,’ she explained. “It is in a
dreadful state; I would not care for anyone to see it.’

 
          
He
laughed. “
Which means I don’t get an invite.
Well, I’m
beginnin’ to understand a woman’s attitude thataway, an’ I’m havin’ a sort o’
domestic revolution at the Big C. That Greaser o’ mine thinks I’ve gone loco,
an’ maybe he’s right.’

 
          
She
gathered he was paying her a compliment—that the reformation of his household
was her doing. “Cleanliness and comfort surely go together,’ she said.

 
          
“Not
to a Mexican. His
motto is “manana”—never do
today
what you can put off till tomorrow, or later. But I didn’t come to talk o’
myself. Is Gilman’s place filled yet?’

 
          
“No.
Mister Drait offered me Quilt, but I told him I wanted to be boss of my own
ranch.’

 
          
“Shorely,’
he agreed. “I’ve the very man for you; middle-aged, sober, level-headed, an’
knows cattle. He also knows his place an’ will keep it. His name is Sturm. I’ll
send him along in the mornin’, but remember, you don’t have to hire him because
he comes from me; use yore judgment.’